Xiangling looked at the rambling Ren with a bit of confusion.
Wait, are we both speaking Liyue dialect?
Why do I feel like I can’t understand you?
Oh, it’s not just that he couldn’t understand; now Xiangling felt like there was something wrong with his eyes too.
Having been a chef for over a decade—one could say his career began a hundred days after birth when he grabbed a spatula during the one-year-old catch ceremony—Xiangling really couldn’t understand the operations Ren was demonstrating.
Is this teaching how to cook?
Is it?
It’s not, right?
Why did Hu Tao suddenly pop up?
And who are Kamisato Ayato, Barbara, and Diona?
But looking at Ren’s non-stop movements, he really was cooking.
Throw the ingredients in, then fish out a bowl of plated Boiled Fish from the scalding cauldron.
Could it be that his previous way of cooking was wrong, and this is how real cooking should actually be done?
“Come, me saying it a hundred times isn’t as good as you doing it once.
You try it; use these ingredients to make a Black-Back Perch Stew.” Like a teacher who, after teaching that 1+1=2, lets the student verify why 1+1 equals 2, Ren made way for Xiangling.
“Ah?
Me?” Xiangling pointed at himself in a panic.
Xiangling felt that he had never been so resistant to cooking.
In the past, if someone told Xiangling that a master chef from Liyue wanted to teach him their recipes and secrets, he would have been over the moon.
After all, in Liyue, while a hundred schools of culinary arts contended and were famous abroad, each restaurant was also notoriously protective of their own secrets.
Whatever secret techniques or special recipes each house had were kept strictly confidential and never leaked.
Xiangling had suffered many headaches because of this in the past, which was one of the reasons he had embarked on the path of Creative Style cuisine at such a young age.
But now, he couldn’t even understand how the other person was cooking, so how was he supposed to practice?
“No problem, just listen to me.
How will you know it won’t work if you don’t try?” Seeing Xiangling hesitate slightly, Ren familiarly patted Xiangling’s fair back to offer encouragement.
“I-I see.
Then I’ll give it a try.” Xiangling swallowed hard, thinking Ren was right—how could truth be found without practice?
So Xiangling took the ingredients, followed Ren’s method, ran to the stove, and then fell silent looking at the large F [Chef’s Hat: Cooking] icon.
“What are you doing?
Hurry up and trigger ‘F’.” “—Ah?!!!” — The usually lively, cute, and boisterous Pyro Damselette looked at the steaming bowl of Black-Back Perch Stew before him and fell into an indescribable contemplation.
Following the guidance of the youth named Ren, who might or might not be human, the culinary Damselette, experiencing game-style cooking for the first time in his life, fell into deep self-doubt regarding the culinary skills he had honed day after day for the past ten years.
If cooking could be this simple, was there even a need for chefs to exist?
With a recipe and a hand that reacted normally and didn’t shake, could anyone be a master chef?
“It’s delicious, mm, really delicious.
I swear this is the best I’ve ever made—this is the taste—” Silently eating the Black-Back Perch Stew he had just made, Xiangling swore he had never made such a perfect Black-Back Perch Stew.
The only problem was that this fish tasted exactly the same as the dozens of bowls of boiled fish he had tasted one by one earlier; there wasn’t the slightest difference.
Finally realizing the essence of this so-called cooking, Xiangling put down his chopsticks, looked at Ren, and said very seriously: “This isn’t cooking.
At the very least, I don’t acknowledge this as how cooking should be.” After saying this, perhaps fearing that the boy across from him, whom he felt an inexplicable fondness for, might misunderstand, Xiangling immediately added an explanation.
“Ah, I’m not saying this is bad.
If everyone could make such delicious dishes at home so easily in the future, it would actually be quite good.
But as a chef, I can’t take such a shortcut.
Cuisine should be changing and progressing; in short, it shouldn’t be so unchanging.” The Damselette’s determination pierced the heavens.
This was the heartfelt sentiment of a Damselette who aspired to be a chef for a lifetime.
This is what a real person is like.
Ren looked at the Damselette, who seemed to be shimmering and radiant.
This was a charm that no NPC could ever display.
Even Xiangling, who was teased by players in the game for being the most simply dressed yet impossible to find erotic, seemed to possess immense charm at this moment, drawing everyone’s gaze.
He clapped for the Damselette’s determination.
“Well said.
So, are you interested in coming to this world to cook for me after you fall asleep in the future?” “As I thought, this isn’t Liyue—uh, not the Liyue I’m originally from.” The previous guess was finally indirectly confirmed by Ren, and the Damselette breathed a sigh of relief.
In that case, his old man should be fine.
Thinking this, Xiangling still glanced sideways at “Chef Mao,” who was still diligently standing at the window greeting guests who weren’t there.
“But the food here is already so delicious.
Do you really still need me to cook for you?” Although he didn’t approve of this method of cooking, Xiangling had to admit that the dishes made this way in this world were truly delicious.
Those of perfect quality were literally perfect.
And although he was also a genius chef, he was still far from perfect in the culinary arts.
So, when Ren invited him to be his chef in his dreams, Xiangling still felt a bit unsure.
Facing Xiangling’s lack of confidence, Ren didn’t say anything to validate him, but instead spoke of seemingly unrelated matters.
“Do you know how long I’ve been trapped in this world, eating nothing but this kind of food?
Months?
Years?
Or decades?
Time has lost its meaning to me.
Change is the only thing that can make my heart beat again.
Honestly, if you brought me a plate of Slime-fried Qingxin right now, I’d probably find it delicious.” “Really?” Oh no, why did Ren feel like Xiangling’s eyes had lit up?
Does this kid not understand what a metaphor is?
Stop, why are you actually starting to make Slime-fried Qingxin?
“Ahem, I was just making a metaphor.
I’d still prefer you to make normal dishes usually.”